Amazing Amestris
by ssadropout
Summary: A.A. is a collection of stories about FMA characters other than Roy & Riza, who have their own collection, "A Mustang Miscellany," though they do feature in this chapter. Ch. 8 is a very short impression of how Mustang's team members might react to Hawkeye being captured.
1. Up a Tree

**A/N- **This was written for the Live Journal girlsavesboy ficathon. Hawkeye and Lan Fan are super kick-ass; it's been shown over and over. I think that Maria Ross is kick-ass, too!

If FMA were mine, the initials would stand for: FLAME MASTER ALCHEMIST.

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Maria Ross inhaled the scent of new-mowed grass and silently thanked whatever power had granted her such a lovely day off. The little gated park in her neighborhood was a gem. The sky was a perfect shade of blue. The few clouds were as white as Briggs after a blizzard, and the golden sun's rays warmed the air to a most pleasant temperature. The fragrant grass was storybook emerald. Best of all was the tree. Maria had been contemplating that tree since winter, when its stark nakedness had revealed its faultless structure. She had never seen a tree that was more meant for climbing than that beauty up ahead.

She approached the tree and then circled it, caressing the rough bark. Then, shielding her eyes, Second Lieutenant Ross studied it from its gnarled roots to its crown. Maria shrugged her shoulders to center her knapsack and planted her foot in the lowest vee. She paused to lean her cheek against the trunk before proceeding. Shortly, she settled in a comfy crotch about a dozen feet up. Her knapsack hung conveniently on a smaller branch, she extracted her thermos, a container of fruit and cheese, and the detective novel that Riza Hawkeye had loaned her.

After a couple of chapters of reading, sipping, and nibbling, she took a break to observe the activity below, reveling in her bird's-eye view. Inexplicably, looking down from a tree was much more fun than looking down from a window in a building. It was still too early for the park to be bustling, but a few other early risers had begun to drift in. One of them caught her eye.

_I think that's my new partner Denny Brosh!_ Maria carefully squirmed into a position with a better sight line. The man was holding onto a little boy with his right hand and a little girl with his left. She didn't know him well, yet; they'd only been partnered for three weeks. However he had mentioned that he was the oldest of several siblings. The little ones with him were quite young, and she didn't think that Denny was quite old enough to be their daddy. Denny seemed young for his age, anyway.

"You just tell me what you want me to do, Second Lieutenant Ross," Brosh had declared after a snappy salute. He must have meant it, too. He seemed to defer to her constantly, more than one might expect from a partner, even one of a lower rank.

Maria watched Denny unfold a blanket and set down a duffle bag. The three Broshes (she was certain) seemed to be discussing something, and then he patted each child on the behind. The two little ones trotted off to the monkey bars, and Denny leaned against a tree, relaxing, but keeping an eye on his younger brother and sister.

Maria repositioned herself to resume reading, but she contemplated Sergeant Brosh instead. He didn't exactly seem incompetent, but other than being excellent at following orders, he didn't seem to be much of a soldier. He seemed more natural with the little kids.

_I wonder what made him chose the military_. The aggressive and confrontational government made the Amestrian Army an unsafe career choice. She'd have to ask him about that.

_He does look really cute in those shorts and tee shirt. _

She knew that she should climb down and talk to him, but she was really enjoying her aerie and promised herself that she'd certainly do it before he left. She returned to her novel. _Riza's correct about this book. It's right up my alley._

Maria must have dozed a little, not a smart thing to do up in a tree. She wasn't clear on what made her close the book and silently rearrange herself in her hiding place. It was instinct or something else subconscious. Maybe some birds flew off. It was almost like a chill in the air. Her trained eyes swept the area as she moved. The western iron-barred gate to the park was shut, and a man appeared to be standing right inside it as a sentry. Ditto for the northern gate. A scan of all 360 degrees of the park revealed that it looked like no one was going to be entering or exiting the square until without the self-appointed guards' permission. The men at the gates were all wearing gray shirts. _Gray shirts! Shit._ The Gray Shirts were a violent paramilitary racist group. Having studied the perimeter, she looked down.

Her eyes swept the ground. Denny, his brother and sister, and what appeared to be the only five other un-gray shirted people in the park were being herded together, gagged, and one by one, tied to the monkey bars. The little ones had been gagged first, as they had begun to cry as soon as the strangers had grabbed them. Denny's little brother seemed to be choking on his gag. There appeared to be a portable radio. _Guess I'm not gonna have a relaxing day off._

She did have a gun with her, stuck in her knapsack. That was the Riza Hawkeye influence, again. Maria thought that Riza didn't have much of a boundary between the military and personal parts of her life, but she did have a convincing argument for being armed at all times. And Riza was apparently right. You never knew what you might run into. Maria had surely not expected her weapon to come in handy today, her tree day.

But her tree was her ally, too. The trunk was only about five feet from the wall, and a few of the branches extended over it. If one of those branches could hold her weight, she might be able to get to a pay phone and get help. The men who were guarding the gates were mostly focused into the park and on the roundup, so she would be able to maneuver once she got outside the walls. It seemed like an odd positioning choice, but they had probably anticipated more trouble from within instead of without. Maria withdrew her gun and shouldered her sack.

The second lieutenant edged over to the sturdiest-looking limb spanning the wall. She extended her leg and pushed down on the branch. It did not move. _Good._ She inched forward, as silent as a thought, checking to be sure that she was not drawing any attention. Slowly, she made her way. Within a couple of minutes, she had made it to a point directly above the wall. She was about four feet above the top, and she lowered herself down onto the top edge of the wall.

_So far, so good._

The wall itself was about eight feet tall, so she could not just jump off. However, there were vines growing on and down the wall, and if she grabbed several, they ought to be able to support her weight … some. She grasped a thick rope of vegetation and extended her right leg down. She forced herself to extend her left leg over, and she was hanging. The vines began to pull from the wall, but she grabbed others on the way down, slowing her descent. She managed to land on her feet with very little noise. There was no activity at the gate in the wall she had just scaled. There was a pay phone across the street near the corner. She walked at a nonchalant pace. If one of the gray shirt guards looked at the street, all they would see was a woman walking. No matter.

Her hands were shaking, and she had trouble finding coins and putting them in the correct slots. It was difficult to think straight. With what seemed like great effort, she managed to dial her own office. Warrant Officer Tosh answered on the fifth ring.

"Warrant Officer Tosh, this is Second Lieutenant Ross. There are approximately six Gray Shirts holding eight hostages at Dragon Park. They have guards at each of the four entrances. At least four of the Gray Shirts are armed…."

Maria could hear Tosh repeating her message to the others in the office, and she knew that her co-workers were snapping into action. She could hear voices and chairs scraping.

Tosh assured Ross that soldiers would be there ASAP and that she should stay clear.

But she could not do that.

Crossing back to the park side of the street, she withdrew her jackknife from her sock and cut a few of the more pliable vines from the wall. She was sure that her racing heart and her shallow breathing would mess her up, but her training must have kicked in, and she crept up to the nearest gate. The unofficial _Closed for Maintenance _sign hanging on the iron bars explained why they felt they could face inward. She raised her arm, and, through the bars, cold-cocked the Gray Shirt with her pistol. She caught him on his way down, struggling to hold him up and to keep from being noticed. After lashing his hands together with the vines, she tied him to the still closed gate, thereby (she vigorously hoped) securing him, keeping him erect, and giving the appearance of him still being on guard. She gagged him with her scarf, hoping that it was not noticeable. All of the remaining Gray Shirts were still focused on the hostages and did not seem to realize that they were one man down.

The soldiers would be coming from the east, so she made her way to the western gate guard, the one who would be likeliest to spot the rescuers and to have a clear shot at them. Why they were watching the hostages instead of the traffic around the park was baffling, but it certainly made knocking them out easier! After replacing her supply of vines, she stealthily approached the second fellow who was taller and heavier than the first Gray Shirt. His height made it difficult for her to strike him in the correct place, and the first hit did not knock him out. At least, he turned instead of yelling, and she was able to get him with her second wallop. She was having a little more trouble holding this terrorist up, but her weight training (another Riza Hawkeye influence) paid off, and Bad Guy Number Two was tied up to his gate. Using her knife, she cut and tore her light jacket into pieces to use as gags and silenced Big Bad Guy. So, onto Bad Guy Number Three. She couldn't judge how much time had passed, but she thought that the rescue team should be arriving very soon. As she moved toward her third target, she realized that her legs had stopped feeling so heavy and that she was no longer shaking. Her breathing was regular. She marveled about that for a second and got back to work.

Bad Guy Number Three turned out to be a Bad Gal, not much bigger than Maria, and Maria took her out tout suite. The troops really should arrive any second, so Ross decided to peer around the female guard and check the status of the hostages. From this angle, she could see Brosh straight on. He, along with the rest of the captives, was still gagged and tied to the bars. _What a relief,_ she thought. _He hasn't had a chance to try something foolishly heroic._ She was so focused on her tasks that the irony of her thoughts floated away unnoticed. Suddenly, her stomach clenched. Denny was looking right at her. For a moment, she feared that he would start making a fuss, but he merely rotated his neck as if attempting to ease a crick and then looked back at her. _He's definitely seen me._ She nodded and then disappeared behind the wall.

_Where are they? It seems like hour have passed. Or seconds. _ She couldn't tell. Would she have to do this all by herself?

_Well, no, thank goodness!_ _Here they come_. A sigh escaped her. _Whoa!_ A few guns were drawn and pointed at her. She stood still and saluted until Captain Maddox saw her and signaled the soldiers to lower their revolvers and rest.

"Second Lieutenant Ross, what's the status of the situation?" queried Maddox.

"I've immobilized three of the guards," she reported. "The hostages are all restrained and still being held at gunpoint. Sergeant Brosh is among them."

"It's very kind of you to have left us something to do," grinned the captain. "Do you want to wait here and rest or join us?"

Ross smiled back and saluted, "I wouldn't want to miss anything, Sir!"

"Well, then let's roll!"

A few minutes later, it was all over and the hostages were freed. With a sob, Denny Brosh threw himself at Maria and flung his arms around her. Before she could respond, he remembered himself, drew back, and saluted. Shaking her head, Maria smiled and opened her arms. Denny's impact nearly knocked them over.

The next day…

Maria was on her fifth lap when she realized that someone was swimming beside her. She recognized the short blond hair of Riza Hawkeye and attempted to stand up and salute.

"Relax Maria," Hawkeye advised, continuing to stroke. "I do want to hear about your heroics, though. You're the talk of the town!"

After relating a short version of her adventure, Maria laughed. "Next day off, I'm scheduling a mani-pedi."

(****)

**A/N-** As always, thank you for reading. I really wanted to give Maria a little more (computer) screen time. Please check out some of the other girlsavesboyfic stories on LJ. There are stories from all sorts of fandoms. Please review if you feel like it ; ) . Take care.


	2. Inspired Indigestion

**A/N-** How did Arakawa get the idea for FMA? Hey! That's my summary AND disclaimer! W00t!

(-+)

_How did I ever get myself into this position? _Moo wondered. She was really under the gun. It was one thing to write and publish _one_ _story_. She'd had her entire life to think of that one and to polish it to perfection. But this was something completely different. _Whatever made me think that I could do this?_

It was just too much for Moo to handle. Too much pressure. Too much to do. Too much writer's block! She hadn't been sleeping. She hadn't eaten. She was feeling faint. Resolute, she decided to force herself to ingest some sustenance. She opened her refrigerator.

What she saw there was as frightening as it was pungent. There was a nearly empty jar of peanut butter, a bit of leftover rice, one slice of liverwurst, and a glob of kimchi. There wasn't enough of any one or two of the items to make a meal. The hour was late; there was no place to go to get food. Her body needed fuel, so she decided to make do with what she had. Moo dumped everything on a plate and poured herself a glass of milk. It didn't look _that_ bad. She wrapped the slice of liverwurst around some kimchi, speared it with a chopstick and stuffed it in her mouth. _I am desperate!_

Minutes later, Moo had cleaned the plate and emptied the glass. She rinsed the dishes in the sink and plopped onto her futon. She groaned in duet with the noises from her belly. The clock struck 2:00 AM. The project outline was due at noon. _I just need to rest my eyes for a couple of minutes. _

Zzzzzzzz.

Moo startled as the boy turned around to look at her. His eyes matched his golden hair, and she did a double take as her own eyes caught the glint of metal through the rip in his sleeve. Those golden eyes were flashing with anger. The mouth that went with them opened in a snarl and yelled, "What the hell are you looking at, Old Lady? Who are you calling so small that he plays dodge ball with a pea?"

"Uh. I didn't say anything…"

"She _didn't_ say anything, Brother," said the Tin Man from _The Wizard of Oz _in the sweetest, most patient voice_._ "Just calm down." A miniature lion rubbed itself against the Tin Man's leg, but as he bent to pick it up, the golden boy raised his voice again. "No, Alphonse. You know better."

_Inside voice. Inside voice, _Moo thought, even though they were outdoors. Just as she realized that they were walking along train tracks, the scene shifted…

She pushed her skewed glasses back up to the bridge of her nose. They were in a room with a strange green flag on the wall. Behind a rather tall desk stood a _very_ good-looking, blue-uniformed, _dashing_ man with pitch-black hair. The blond boy began to yell, "What are you going to waste my time with now, Bastard?"

"That's Colonel Bastard to you, Squirt!" The handsome man's voice would have had a pleasant baritone rumble, if he weren't irritated. He began to trot out from… _trot?_ The officer's bottom half was that of a horse. Moo squeaked, "You're a …"

"He's my mustang," advised a severe-looking woman, also in uniform, followed by a small dog. She turned to the centaur, "Get back behind your desk and work! Now!"

"Yes, Lieutenant Condorclaw," responded the colonel as the short boy cackled. The Tin Man just sighed. "I do have a mission for you, Fullmetal," the colonel stated.

_Fullmetal? _Moo knew that the boy was partially metal, but _Fullmetal _didn't make sense.

The centaur snapped his fingers, which emitted flames, and vertigo overtook Moo. The scene changed again. She was still with the short blond boy and the Tin Man, but they were in a field near a house. A girl came running out of the house, brandishing a hammer and screaming even more loudly than the short boy had.

Suddenly she was in a dark laboratory, alone; a snake was on a cross. A disembodied voice droned, "In order to obtain or create something, something of equal value must be lost or destroyed."

Moo spun through nothingness until she saw an ornate gate. She spun more and more rapidly.

A woman in bathroom slippers was crying. The blond boy was by a tombstone, holding back tears. A little girl and her dog merged into a horror. An obese man with a lolling tongue. A tattooed arm. An ornate circle. Photographs.

Moo awoke with a huge burp. _What the hell! _The clock read 9:00. She had slept for nearly seven hours. Moo actually felt kind of good.

She considered her dreams, musing that it must have been the bizarre mix of foods she had eaten that had caused their strangeness. And, _eureka!_

"That's so crazy, it just might work!" she now knew what story she was going to pitch to _Monthly Shounen GanGan_!

(-+)

**A/N-** This was written for LJ's fma_fic_contest prompt "That's so crazy, it just might work." Please don't review! (I am trying reverse psychology on you. XD) Thanks for reading, and take care.


	3. Out of His Gourd?

**A/N-** Here's another shortie written for the fma_fic_contest on LJ. The Prompt was "pumpkin," and there was a 250 word limit. I own neither FMA nor the song _Yes, Sir, That's My Baby._ The song was published in 1925, which was several years after the time of this story. I just had to use it. It's such a Maes song.

\********/

If not for the opaque reflection, one would have been able to see his sharply focused eyes glittering behind his eyeglasses as he tossed the knife from hand to hand. He'd had to wash his hands after using them to scoop out the gooey and sticky entrails. Maes flicked his wrist and threw the blade. A snicker escaped as the weapon hit its mark with a thump and a squish but no other sound from the target. Less sure of himself, now, he pushed on the knife and angled it down with a jerk. He began to sing under his breath:

_Yes, sir, that's my baby. No, sir I don't mean maybe..._

Maes continued, sometimes singing, sometimes grunting. He required precision of himself. This _had_ to be perfect. When he was satisfied with his knife work, he carefully cleaned up and tossed the mess in the garbage can. It would not do to leave a trace of the disgusting pulp. (It was too late by the time he realized that his wife could have baked it into a pie.)

_Yes, sir,_

The next step was to arrange the lighting. Maes alternated between the lamps and the tripod, making adjustments.

_that's my baby now!_

Maniacally, he ran out of the room. The pace of his return was more deliberate. After all, his baby was in his arms. As he carefully placed Elycia inside the pumpkin, he cackled, "Wait until Roy sees _these_ photographs!"

\********/

**A/N- **Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Maes had a grin that looked just barely south of psychotic to me. XD And, he was great with a knife. Please review. Take care.


	4. Memorably Forgettable

**A/N-** I had written this for LJ's fma_fic_contest's "Vato Falman" prompt a few weeks ago. I was disappointed in it, so I didn't put it up here at first. Then, **Oxenstierna D. Yuki-Rin** mentioned that she thought that Falman didn't get enough attention. She's right, so here it is. Thanks, **Oxenstierna**! Anyway, since Arakawa (FMA's creator) hasn't told us much about Falman, I made stuff up.

xxxx

From the time that he was young, Vato Falman had never felt that he belonged. Even his mother and father had not paid as much attention to him as to his siblings, probably because while they were running around and falling off of or into things, he, Vato, was sitting indoors reading. (_Oh, Vato, I forgot that you were there._)

At school, he had felt like he was invisible to the point that he almost (_almost_) envied the kids who were bullied. He was tall and thin and easily ignored, and the other students rarely spoke to him. (_Scarecrow, book brain, squinty_- was what they called him when they bothered. He didn't think that they knew his name.) So, the books became his friends, and he gently held their riches inside in his vault-like memory.

He would have liked to attend university, but the Falmans could not afford it, and enlisting in the Amestrian Army seemed like a good idea at the time. Vato thought that his eidetic memory could be of value to his country, but no one seemed to notice how he remembered virtually everything, and he didn't seem to get the promotions that many got. (_Bergstrom, Foster, and …you, flank to the left._)

He managed to find a wonderful woman who didn't seem to mind his ways, and they married. Never mind that by that time he was rather older than most grooms. It worked for them.

_Finally_, his quiet and thorough work did impress Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes of Investigations. Falman liked working for Hughes very much. The work suited him well, and Hughes treated him just like he treated everyone else.

"Warrant Officer Falman!" Hughes spoke to everyone as if they were deaf, and it was surprising that they weren't by the time Hughes finished with them. "You must take a look at these new pictures of my adorable daughter Elysia! Isn't she the cutest thing that you've ever seen? Look how she rides that tricycle- she'll be a great equestrian someday." It had always felt like an assault when Hughes babbled on about his family, but after Hughes' murder, Falman treasured his perfect memories of his late commanding officer.

Hughes' close friend had been Colonel Roy Mustang, the famous (or infamous) Flame Alchemist, and Vato had gotten to know him and his men. Mustang and Hughes had worked together a couple of times, and Mustang's men, well, and woman, had always treated him well. They were all younger and a little weird themselves. Havoc was always grousing about his romantic life but was dependable in a tight spot. Breda looked like a slob, but Vato learned that Breda had read nearly every book on tactics and strategies and could apply them. (Vato envied this greatly, as his knowledge often seemed impractical. No one seemed to care about Amestris' conquest of Riviere in 1558, for instance. Also, even though Vato could quote virtually everything about chess theory, Breda always won their matches.) Young Fuery, a nervous type, was always tangled up in wires for his electronics. And Hawkeye might have been the weirdest of all. She appeared to be the epitome of a soldier, she was possibly the best shot in the army, and she was frighteningly serious. But there was something about her relationship with Mustang…

And Mustang, reputed to be vain, ambitious, shallow, and lazy, was perhaps the most idealistic and devoted person he had ever met.

It was really interesting to watch them together. Outcasts all, and undisciplined on the surface, they had visible camaraderie and accomplished more than met the eye. And, strangest of all, they treated him as if he fit in. Well, they did act like he was an oddball, but their ribbing was good-natured, and it was the way that they all treated each other and sometimes even Mustang.

"Lighten up, Lurch," was heard about as often as, "Don't talk with your mouth full, Tubby," or "Quit whining, Loser." (No one _ever_ taunted Hawkeye, and they went easy on Fuery.)

And sometimes Breda would ask him about some historic battle, or Havoc would ask him the lyrics to a song, or Mustang would request that he remember some very hush-hush intel.

When Mustang _ordered_ him to go to Central with the rest, it was more thrilling than inconvenient. And when he was transferred North, even the promotion, years too late, was no consolation. If the Elric boys hadn't shown up at Briggs, he'd probably still be knocking icicles off of ceilings. But before he knew it, there he was right smack dab in the middle of a coup d'etat, face-to-face with Fuhrer Bradley. And the Fuhrer recognized him.

When it was over and Mustang tried to order him to transfer back, he had to smile sadly and politely refuse. He was a father now, and his wife liked it up North. And General Armstrong, along with asking a lot of questions about Mustang, had begun asking Vato to remember things for her. Falman believed that he wasn't deserting Mustang and the team. He could still be valuable to them by being close to General Armstrong. That curl of her lip when she spoke of the newly minted general was more than a little scary.

xxxx

**A/N- **Yeah. See? Falman deserves better, but I have given him what I could. My heart is in the right for reading! Take care.


	5. EDible Milk?

**A/N-** Here's another one-shot written for LJ's fma_fic_contest. The prompt was "condense." It contains a bit o' girlie sex talk. I see this as taking place about 2 to 3 years after the Promised Day. I originally forgot to mention when this takes place, and I keep messing up fixing this A/N. Please forgive multiple , alas, I, ssadropout, do not own FMA.

O****O

Riza held out the opened can, and Winry dipped the very tip of her pinky finger in it. Then, cautiously, she flicked the tip of her tongue to the whitish liquid. Blue eyes blinked.

"Are you sure about this, Miss Riza?" asked the girl.

"Of course, Winry. Look at the label on the can. It's used in baking. If you don't believe me, ask Mrs. Hughes. She uses it in her pumpkin pies. Edward must have eaten one of those. Watch. I'm mixing it with shredded coconut and confectioner's sugar, forming it into bite-sized pieces, and coating them in cinnamon to make Drachman potatoes. It's already sweetened and condensed. I really think that he might be willing to ingest it. You can even spread it on bread." Riza widened her already large eyes meaningfully and nodded.

"I don't suppose that I have to tell him what it is. He really needs more calcium," mused the young mechanic. "I don't think he would ever consume it if I didn't force him to. Al isn't capable of being firm enough. And… well, I don't mind Ed's being short, but he _does_ mind it."

_That's an understatement!_ thought Hawkeye. She resumed her little lesson. "And, it can be used in, ahem, non-cooking ways." The soldier paused to see if Winry had gotten her meaning.

"Like what, Miss Riza?"

_Oh, well. Now, I've done it. _Riza should have known better than to introduce this particular topic, but Roy had been on a diplomatic mission, and she hadn't seen him in a week. He was coming home that night.

"Well, when you and Edward get romantic…" Riza paused at the younger woman's blush, but Winry nodded and waved her hand for Riza to continue. "When you and Edward, well, have you ever used chocolate syrup or honey?"

"Romantically?" the mechanic questioned.

"One of you can lick it off of the other, and it is quite pleasurable for both," Riza explained.

Winry's expression morphed from shocked to thoughtful and finally to a smile that made her look a lot less innocent than she had just a minute before. "You and Mr. Mustang use food when you make love?"

"We like to try different things: food, role-playing, toys, positions, places. We enjoy variety."

The younger woman nodded. "Ed and I- we still get pretty excited about the regular way, but I can see trying something different."

"There's certainly nothing wrong with the 'regular way'," Riza assured Winry. "Believe me when I tell you that Roy and I like it just fine. But, just because a person likes the truffles in a box of chocolates, it doesn't mean that they can't like the fruits and the pralines."

The mechanic giggled. "Ed won't know what hit him."

_Yeah, if it's not a wrench_, mused Riza.

Winry continued, "Mr. Mustang is lucky."

"It works both ways," Riza replied, but her mind had wandered elsewhere. _Roy isn't going to get beyond the entrance hall until after I am finished with him._

O****O_  
_

**A/N-** Thanks for reading! Reviews are desired and coveted.

For those who read my fic _Roy, Riza, Rock and Roll_, I have begun to write a sequel. The story was (very loosely) based on the story of Valerie Plame, whose tale has now been told in the current film _Fair Game_. In _Roy, Riza, Rock and Roll_, Riza was falsely accused of revealing Amestrian secrets to foreign powers. Roy, a bass player in a rock band and a stranger to Riza, got involved in helping her, and they barely evaded Bradley's minions and escaped to Aerugo. The new story will pick up about a month after their escape and show them trying to clear their names, hoping to return to Amestris, and maybe even depose Bradley. I'm not sure when I will begin to post it.

Take care, folks!


	6. Beautiful Mind

**A/N**- This was written for LJ's fma_fic_contest Prompt 98- Alphonse. Somehow, Solf J. Kimblee hijacked the fic. It takes place around episode 38 of FMA:B.

Several of FMA's characters think that Alphonse has it made. Kimblee has his own unique ideas about Alphonse's situation. But Alphonse's reality is sadly far different than how it's perceived.

I love and covet FMA, but, no, I do not own it. *Sob.*

^..^

Solf J. Kimblee shrugged out of his pure white coat and carefully folded it inside out. It was cold, but it would not do to get his coat dirtied. He then tossed his hat onto the neat bundle with a practiced snap of the wrist. After all, he did like to do things with panache. He had always loved the crispness of white and how it complimented his complexion, but up here near Briggs, it was excellent camouflage as well. Appearances were very important to Solf J. Kimblee. As he lithely lowered his body onto the tattered cot, he contemplated the day that had just passed.

It had not been a successful day by _normal_ people's standards. Doctor Marcoh and Scar were still at large. He'd even lost his little blond hostage. He was stuck in this decaying building in Baschool with Briggs soldiers whom he suspected did not have his welfare in mind. _Whatever_. A slight delay and a minor complication in completing his assignment were naught but a couple of snowflakes here in the vast great white North. Actually, sometimes drawing out a job was like savoring a good wine. One could appreciate every sip- or step. And without Raven to answer to, he now had free reign.

The howling blizzard meant that the search had to be put on hold, and that was just fine with him. This impasse finally gave him a generous block of time to contemplate the sublime mystery that was Alphonse Elric.

Back in Central, Fuhrer President Bradley had told him of the younger Elric's situation and search for the Stone. However, for some reason, the amazing implications of the boy's condition had not begun to turn the cogs in Kimblee's brain until he'd passed some time with the animate suit of armor and his brother. Bradley had stated that Fullmetal had bound Alphonse's soul to the armor. Now, Solf held the concept of a soul to be hogwash, but he knew that there _was_ an essence of a being. And Alphonse Elric's essence was unpolluted by a flesh and blood body. He had the potential- if he tried- to be pure spirit.

Now, he, Solf, _had_ embraced the sensual. What else was there to do? A body demanded food and sex and shelter, so he granted his body the finest of all things. He wore perfectly tailored clothes, imbibed the best brews and vintages, feasted on the most delicious food, and fucked in the most extreme manner.

But it must be the pinnacle of superiority to not have such concerns. To free one's mind.

Kimblee tried to imagine Alphonse in a body. Reportedly, he was a year younger than Fullmetal, so his body might have been similar. But his anima was certainly very different from his brother's. Did his calmness derive from his freedom from physical needs? In his current state, the boy did not have worry about losing a body part to frostbite or breathing the bitter frigid air. Or worry about getting something to eat. (Kimblee truly hated some of the food- he used the word loosely- that it had been necessary to consume on this assignment.) The wound from the impalement that Scar had thrust on him (a giggle at his cleverness) had been something of a bother until Doctor Gold Tooth had healed it, even if the pain had been exquisite. Alphonse did not have to concern himself with damaged organs or infection. And, as much as Solf reveled in sex, his predilections did sometimes cause unpleasant situations with partners who did not always have a similar lack of inhibition. Having a body had its perquisites, but it also had very real disadvantages.

Oh, that boy was so very fortunate to be something so special. Kimblee was not envious often. (He thought of the homunculus Envy and smiled like a shark.) He had so much going for him. He had everything! What else could a man who was handsome, brilliant, wealthy, and in possession of a Philosopher's Stone possibly want? Nothing, really, but, as a man of intellect, a man of science, he could not help but wonder what an unfettered intelligence could be capable of. There were monks in Xing that could train their bodies to not feel pain. Not just resist pain, to not feel it. They could go without sleep and slow their heartbeats to a nearly imperceptible pace. They _transcended_.

And all of this transcendence was being wasted on that child who clattered after his troublesome brother like a beaten but hopeful puppy.

Some people thought that Alphonse Elric's situation was providential because of the immortality aspect, but Solf knew better. It wasn't having an indestructible body that was so wonderful, it was having a liberated psyche.

_Alphonse Elric was the luckiest person in the world. _

Elsewhere:_  
_

As Alphonse trudged through the blizzard, he felt his soul being yanked from the armor. He thought about what Barry the Chopper had told him and contemplated failure and death.

^..^

**A/N**- Thanks for reading. Hope that you enjoyed. Even Kimblee loves reviews... Take care.


	7. The Naked High School

**A/N- **This was written for LJ's fma_fic-contest Prompt 102- High School AU. For the prompt, I just threw everyone into high school together. If I owned _Fullmetal Alchemist_, I would not be me. I'd be Hiromu Arakawa.

I took the title for this chapter from the very old TV show **_Naked City_**, which in turn took its title from a classic Jules Dassin film, which in turn took its title from a book of photos by the crime photographer Weegee. The only thing that I really remember from the TV show is the tag line:  
_"There are a thousand stories in the naked city, and this is just one of them."_ (or WTTE) Hence, my intro to this fic is:

There are a dozen stories in the naked high school. These are one-quarter dozen of them…

(***)

Havoc's grin was wider than the Cheshire cat's. "Okay. These are the rules, people:

1- Whichever contestant eats the most Peeps wins and receives 30% of the take after subtracting the cost of the Peeps. The loser gets 10%.

2- There are no odds. The remaining 60% of the take after subtracting the cost of the Peeps will be evenly divided between each winning share.

3- There is no personal share limit. Each bettor may purchase as many shares as he or she wishes. The cost of a share is 50 cenz. Kain and Falman will keep the records and are in charge of the pot. Bets for Ed go to Kain and bets for Breda go to Falman. Betting will close at 2:45.

4- There will be two rounds. Round One will be five minutes long. I will time it with this stopwatch."

Havoc waved the timepiece that he had borrowed from his track coach and then continued, "Each participant will have 50 bunny Peeps on his plate. His score will be determined by subtracting the remaining Peeps from 50.

5- After a five-minute break, Round Two will begin. Round Two will be ten minutes long and will have Peeps chicks. We bought 200 Peeps chicks, and we will start with fifty chicks for each eater. If an eater gets down to only four chicks left, Alex Louis will place a second plate with 20 chicks behind the plate that the eater started with. If somehow an eater consumes the second plate, Alex Louis will prepare a third plate with 20 chicks. And so on.

6- To be counted, a Peep must be swallowed and, uh, kept down. Any Peep in a contestant's mouth when a round ends must be expectorated! Anything up-chucked will be deducted from the puker's total"

(There are gagging sounds and titters from the crowd.)

"7- All left over Peeps will be distributed to the bettors," stated Havoc. He went on,

"8- Riza will be the judge and will handle any and all disputes."

Someone in the group yelled that Mustang had too much influence over Riza, but most of the crowd shouted him down. Riza might have what some thought was a bizarre attachment to Mustang, but anyone who knew her also knew that she didn't let him get away with shit.

"Them's the rules," Havoc interrupted. Any questions?"

"Let's get this thing started already!"

At 2:50, Havoc counted down, "Three, two, one, EAT!"

Ed began stuffing the marshmallow bunnies into his mouth as quickly as he could with both hands shoveling. Breda, however, kept a slightly slower but more deliberate pace. The pink and green bunnies looked helpless in his beefy hands, and close observers may have noticed that he was doing something that Ed wasn't- actually _chewing_ the Peeps. When Havoc blew his whistle to end Round One, Ed had consumed 30 of his Peeps and Breda only 25.

"Take that Mustang," Ed called, pumping his fist in the air.

"Whatever are you squawking about, Edward? I'm not in the contest with you."

"You're such an asshole. We all know that you've got your money on your buddy Breda. You were talking with him until the contest began. I am going to bankrupt you, you bastard!" ranted the blond kid.

Roy Mustang smiled at Ed, riling the younger boy up even more.

"Don't you want to take a _little _rest between rounds, Edward?"

Ed stalked off but came right back to prepare for Round Two. Breda had stretched and then sat with his eyes closed during the exchange.

Round Two began with Ed, once again, scarfing down Peeps like a maniac. Breda worked a little more quickly this time, but he remained calm and methodical. The excitement became palpable when Havoc announced that there were two minutes remaining in the round and contest.

A murmur began to sweep across the audience as some noticed Ed slowing down a bit, and he seemed to be turning the same shade of green as some of the Peeps. Breda continued his purposeful munching technique, and the number of Peeps left on his plate continued to diminish at a steady rate.

"Thirty seconds remaining!" Havoc yelled, and the crowd began counting down. As they reached _ten_, Ed suddenly stood and…

Alex Louis had to quickly pirouette to get out of the way. Riza stepped back two steps but kept her eyes on the contestants. She was the judge, after all. There was a collective gasp as Ed puked up a rainbow-colored marshmallow geyser.

Ed had eaten 67 Peeps, but it was determined that he had regurgitated at least 10. Breda had cleared 60. The leftover Peeps were distributed, but not too many folks were in the mood to eat them.

(***)

"Alright, boys. One more time around the track and then I have a surprise for you!" boomed Mr. Curtis. There were a few groans. Such talk from the Phys Ed teacher usually did not bode well. However, this time appeared to be- potentially- different. The girls' gym class was trotting onto the field ahead of their teacher, Mrs. Curtis. She was smiling sweetly at her husband, but her charges knew better. Mrs. Curtis was a worse taskmaster than her husband.

"It's such a beautiful day," said Mrs. Curtis, "that the unsurpassedly handsome Mr. Curtis and I wanted all of you to get some fresh air. Since we have to share the field, Mr. Curtis and I came up with a coed activity for you. We are going to play" she paused for effect, "DODGE BALL!" she and Mr. Curtis boomed together.

"Each team will be coed," instructed Mr. Curtis. "Mrs. Curtis and I will pick the teams by drawing a girl's name and then a boy's name for each team and alternate until you are all teamed up."

Ed, chosen for the Red Team snickered at Blue Team Roy's groans when Olivier Armstrong was chosen for the Red Team. Actually, it was more of a repressed cackle.

"I've got to keep away from your sister, Alex Louis. I don't know what her problem is with me, but she scares me. I know she's gonna not only try to hit me but also try to hurt me."

"My dear sister is not likely to show me any mercy, either," replied Alex Louis. "Sibling rivalry has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations."

"At least Riza's on our Blue Team," Jean sighed. That'll give us a chance to win." Roy, Jean, and Alex Louis looked sidelong at the two blond girls. One with clipped hair, the other with long furious waves. One average height, the other tall. Both stacked, and both too tough to mess with. Riza looked contemplative. Olivier looked like a starving woman about to be served dinner. Jean could have sworn she was salivating.

The lines formed. The whistle blew. The balls were thrown. Seconds later, an inhuman wail pierced the air as Roy Mustang sank to the ground, felled by simultaneous hits from Edward and Olivier.

"Mustang, you are such a p… arrgh," screeched the little blond. As he fell, he felt Riza Hawkeye's glare and heard Mrs. Curtis shout, "Alex Louis Armstrong! A bare chest is NOT regulation uniform. Go put a shirt on."

(***)

Roy led Riza into the kitchen where his schoolbooks were stacked on the table. He placed her books, which he had taken from her, next to his.

"Where is everyone? Since I'm late, I thought that I'd be the last one here."

"Um, no one else could make it to study group tonight," Roy explained, pulling out a chair for her.

"What? No one?" Riza asked incredulously.

"Jean had a track practice. Kain had to work at the pet store. Maria decided to study with Denny," Roy hurriedly explained a bit more.

Riza expelled an angry little puff of air. "Well, since no one else is here, we don't have to sit so close to each other, do we?

"!#$%!" _Why didn't I think of that?_

"What's that, Roy?"

"Nothing, Riza."

"Now start writing that paper on _A Military History of Alchemy_. I'll bet you haven't even begun it. You are such a procrastinator."

"!#$%!"

"What's that, Roy?"

(***)

**A/N- **Three fics for the price of one! (Quantity, not quality. XD Also, has been playing formatting games, again.) I really appreciate your reading this. Reviews are even better than Peeps. Take care!


	8. Failure is NOT an Option

**A/N-** This was originally written for LJ's fma_fic_contest Prompt 163- Coffee. I was thinking about how the men would react if anything happened to Hawkeye. Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine in any universe or dimension.

-000000-

Fuery looked like he was going to cry. Havoc stared at the lit cigarette in his hand and suddenly realized that he still had a nearly entire one hanging from his lips. He wondered if the others felt as deadly cold as he did. And why was he sweating, if he was freezing?

Breda was as pale as a hospital sheet, which was very unlike his usual ruddy complexion. Falman thought that he might vomit. He had never even seen a dog make the redhead shake like that. As if sensing Falman's very thoughts, Breda leaned over and petted Black Hayate who whimpered at the strangeness of the gesture and the tension in the tent.

They all were avoiding looking at the Colonel.

"Shit._ Shit_. **SHIT**! How the hell could I have let it happen? The lieutenant… I should have…" Breda moaned.

A voice whispered, "Not your fault. It was a bad plan. I should never have okayed it." Everyone turned to face Colonel Mustang, whose face was as scarily stony as any of them had ever seen. Of course he would blame himself.

No one wanted to consider what would happen if they did not rescue Hawkeye.

"Now we need a perfect plan. Fuery, get on the radio and scan for chatter. Falman, stay with him. I have a feeling that you might pick up on a Drachman frequency. Breda, I need you to restate everything that happened. Havoc, …"

"I'll make the coffee."

-000000-

**A/N-** Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. Thanks also the the Guest who reviewed "Best Brother" recently. Reviews? Yes, please. Take care.


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